Balls!

“He was laying on his back and about a centimetre above the castration sight, his penis suddenly started to balloon! It got to the size of a ping-pong ball before going back down. I‘d say it looked like he was getting an erection but something was blocked”.

I’m on the phone, speaking with the helpful young woman at the vet’s reception. It’s not the most comfortable of conversations I’ve ever had, but being a 90% qualified Canine First-Aider, I’ve decided I should use technical terms (“Penis”) rather than vernacular (“Willy”).

”Oh” says the receptionist “It, ummm, sounds a bit odd”. She sounds a tad uncomfortable, despite my careful use of the correct terminology. “I’ll just call the vet to see whether he needs to be brought in”.

The line goes quiet for a minute or two whilst the vet is contacted, allowing me more time to fret over the weird willy blockage that Milo obviously has.

The receptionist is back. “The vet says that’s perfectly normal and nothing to worry about”. Well, I am relieved to say the least. Exploding dog-danglies are not what we want. Being a man of limited mental filter, instead of saying “Thank you, that’s good to know” I let the relief get the better of me and gabble a response.

”Oh thank God! We were so worried. I mean it looked horrendous! If that happened to me I’d be properly panicking!”

Hold on, what am I saying? To a young lady veterinary receptionist? Too late, can’t take it back now.

And this dear friends is why I can never step foot in the vet’s again. Even if they do lift the ban.

Anyway for those that have a passing interest in the hound, having bounced his operation site into being swollen to the extent that we though that he still had goolies, I’m pleased to report that daily icing and a regime of limited exercise has worked and he is back to his usual, maniacal self. The cat is delighted of course.

The pup has become the scourge of the local badger population since he has recovered, all because of balls. Tennis balls. We try to limit the time he spends chasing balls on a walk (because Spaniels can become as single minded as Gin on a Friday after work looking for her first drink of the weekend), but it is the guaranteed way of getting him back to your side. And so the last 5 to 10 minutes of each stroll consists of a tennis ball being lobbed into bushes for him to go find (must try the equivalent with Gin; hide the bottle somewhere in the house and get her scurrying about trying to find it. Just imagine the LoLs we will have (provided I’ve hidden the knives). Anyway, I digress. The pup and his balls in bushes). Milo has a very sharp nose and essentially is bread to flush things to hunt out of undergrowth. He likes a good old sniff around badger sets and bunny holes [Editorial note: Gin censored the joke that I inserted here] and there are quite a lot of them in the bushes that I chuck the tennis ball into. Sometimes Milo finds the ball and brings it straight back, whilst other times he bounces about with it for a bit, carrying it hither and thither. And so it came to pass that last week he decided that he needed to put the ball down to sniff at the entrance to a badger’s home. I could see it happening in slow motion, but cries of “Nooooooo you will lose it” have little effect on a dog that doesn’t understand basic physics. And so the ball was dropped and into the hole it ran, swiftly followed by the dog trying to retrieve it. I had visions of an enraged badger, having been woken by a ball falling on his head, taking the nose off the silly sod that had dropped it in the first place. Quickly I ran into the bush, lead at the ready to drag the hound out. At which point the nearest Hawthorn (named Very Aptly) decided to get involved and stabbed my left ear. And when I say stabbed I mean gave me a second piercing. Could I get the bloody thing out to detach myself from the tree? No I couldn’t. Did the dog continue to force his way in to the set? Yes he did. Finally after some twisting and turning I was free, grabbed the remaining 1/4 of the ball-boy’s body that was still visible and dragged him back out of the hole. Minus the ball, but also minus any fighty badgers. It struck me as we walked back into the car park that people must have wondered what the dickens we had been up to, with blood dripping off my ear and the hound covered in chalky mud for 3/4 of his length. At this point I’d like to say this was a one-off, but he’s deposited a tennis ball on an unsuspecting badger twice more since then. At this rate they will be able to set up a stall and flog used tennis balls to passing dog walkers.

Ah the joys of young dog ownership. Anyhow, good news! The pubs are open and we can see people indoors once again. Needing no second invitation to make the most of it, there has been a pub and curries with Running Around John and Alg, and the local gang came round and smashed their way through many bottles of Prosecco and wine, finally departing at 1.20am. God it was good to see them! Even better we sorted a mini-break to Lisbon with them next year (those EasyJet refund vouchers I struggled to get now put to use before they expire). Mind you I’d forgotten what it’s like trying to make Chorizo Pasta for BT after a skin-full at 1.30am. Apparently it was the worst ever. Yup.

GT (Girl Teenager) is doing her end of year 1 A Level exams as I type and has been working like a thing possessed. Literally she has been filling nearly all of her time with revision, so much so that we’ve been trying to get her to take time off. But she won’t (or can’t?). She and Gin talked to Granny about this briefly, when they visited to wish Aunty Di a happy birthday, and it transpires that Gin was exactly the same at GT‘s age. They are blessed and cursed with having massively clever minds, meaning academically they soar, but they punish themselves by feeling the need to work until they drop. Poor GT looks so tired, but the exams will be over within a week and then hopefully she can ease off a bit. I tell you there is something to be said for being a bit thicker!

Talking of A levels, I have been asked a few times since starting this blog what grade in English I got. Didn’t do English. Foolishly I decided to do maths instead. I’m not good at maths. Got an E, and that was a bloody struggle. Kids if you are choosing subjects, do the ones that a) you are interested in, and b) you are naturally good at. Here ends Mr H’s course selection advice.

What else? Ah yes, work. Gin got herself a promotion and we are all over the moon for her. She is really good at this teaching business and watching the progress that she is making now that she is unfettered from being stuck at home, part-time, is just great. Also means that we are edging closer to breaking even on incomings versus outgoings. We are also edging closer to getting the dog walking business going, although that is now somewhat up in the air as my old Boss has said that there may be some part-time, work-from-home stuff I can do for her. Not sure how likely it is as I type, but honestly I hope it happens as I’d much rather be using my brain to earn cash (shut it you! Yes I have a brain, although it has turned to mush in the last six months). I like walking our dog, but not that keen on the idea of walking lots of others. Still if we have to, that’s what we will do.

And there we go, another few weeks bumble by. Hopefully by the time I next write one of these the April weather that has dogged May will have been replaced by more May-like weather in June (or something) and there will be more stories of being out and about in the warm sunshine. Until then, take it easy chums.

Love and elbow-grease,

Mr H

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